Opera
by Juliette D'Ouverture
Summary: Kingsley Edge, the King of the Underground, and his sub Juliette visit the Opera. They try hard to keep their own show secret.


My phone binged with a message from mon Roi. "Mon amour, get dressed up. Tonight we are going to the ballet. Departure: 6.30. No delays allowed."

After a quick reply I checked the time. It was about 5; still enough time to find the right dress & shoes, take a quick bath and get ready. I knew that mon Maitre loved it when my hair fell freely down my back. So, I brushed the black, straightened curls viciously for the last 10 minutes until I had to run to avoid a punishment for tardiness.

To the tick 6:30 I knocked at mon Roi's office door. Instead of calling me in he stepped out dressed in his signature Victorian suit and ridding boots, dashing as always, and offered me his arm. "Mon amour, shall we?"

The Royce took us to the theatre. It was a short ride and we passed it in silence. Mon Roi never took his eyes from me. The smug smile playing around his lips told me, he was up to something. He hadn't given permission to talk so I couldn't just ask. Instead the tingle starting in the pit of my stomach spread fast. By the time we arrived I was squirming in my seat, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my dress.

We entered our private box on the first balcony without delay. In our seats made of red plush and gilded wood on red carpet the commotion around us made me forget everything. I sat on the edge of my chair and inspected everything from the elaborately decorated ceiling to the orchestra pit and mon Roi was right beside me pointing out people and telling stories until the bell announcing the immediate start of the ballet rang.

"Have you noticed our neighbors, mon amour?" mon Roi whispered in my ear when the bell stopped and the light started dimming. "They are really close and really nosy." I nodded recalling the curious and slightly disgusted glances we had drawn upon our arrival.

"They wouldn't approve of any noise, would they?" I shook my head.

"And they would us have frown out of the theatre if they saw you naked while I give you pleasure, n'est pas?" My eyes grew wider, but I nodded.

"We wouldn't want that, right?" I swallowed as I shook my head again.

"There is just one solution to this dilemma, mon amour." A nozzle and a nibble on my ear lobe filled the break that followed. "You have to be very, very silent when you now take off your clothes and kneel in front of me."

The music set in and filled the before hushed room with sweet melodies. I closed my eyes as I nodded one last time. When I opened them again the curtains started to rise and the lights from the stage welled into the audience room. Slowly, but without hesitation I pulled the straps of my dress down my arms and let it slide down my body all the way to my feet. I knew better than to disobey a command. Undressed except for my garter belt, socks and heels I made to kneel down between the chairs and the balustrade. Mon Roi got hold of my hair and pulled my ear to his mouth.

"Face to the front, hands on the railing. They will not move from there."

Trying hard to avoid any noise I fold myself into place. The cold metal under my fingers is welcome as it gives a short relief to my already heated body. My eyes stay trained on the stage as mon Maitre splits my legs and spreads my knees far enough so that he can slide his chair between my ankles. With forceful hands he pulls on my pelvis until my ass stands up into the air. His shiny boots come to stand next to my knees, their leather digging deep into my hips as if mon Roi's legs were the lips of a vise.

As the pas de deux of the prima ballerina and her lead male sets in mon Roi pushes my hair down over my left shoulder and kisses down my back. He takes great care to cover every inch in his path from the nap of my neck to the small of my back, licking his way back up whenever he thinks he missed a spot. His lips seem to burn their way straight down to my backbone which is melting like cheese that drips in long strings gleaming hot into my belly. Several times in the eternity the kisses take I stop moans in the last moment before they can pass my lips and swallow them. They evaporate once they make it down my throat. Their steam builds the pressure in me like in a steam cooker and pushes my fluid out onto the soft flesh between my legs. I stay strong. Not even a muscle moves in my face.

While a nozzle just where the fold between my cheeks starts marks the end of the trail, mon Maitre's fingers wander down the line at the end of my rip cage, then up the breast bone until his hands palm my breasts. They weigh and massage them, push and pull and knead and rub them. They finger my nipples and caress and rough them until they are almost painfully swollen and stand on guard like little brave soldiers' bayonets. It doesn't take long until a direct wire is established between my breasts and my groin. Every tug was answered by a twitch. Every pinch was mirrored by a jerk. The spark travelling back and forth on the wire crossed through the already tensed atmosphere of my stomach. It boils my intestines and sends shivers over my skin. I bite my lip and dig my fingers into the iron handle, readjusting my arms in a futile attempt to relax.

Mon Roi blows into my ear before he whispers. "Not a sound and don't let go, remember." Then he chuckles and bites my neck.

I want to curse him, but moving my lips would be dangerous as just that moment his hands find my folds and drown in them. They pull them apart and dig deeper. First one, then two fingers rub the inside of my cunt resulting in a low whimper. Fastly I look left and right, but my slip went unnoticed. Almost at least, because just this moment I feel the sharp pain of a couple of hard pinches bruising the same spot of my butt in fast succession. I bury my teeth into the velvet cover of the wooden balustrade to stifle my cries.

All the while the two fingers continue to work my cunt. They are joined again by the other hand rubbing and kneading my clit. I try to focus on the grip of my hands, on the taste of the balustrade under my teeth, on the dancing, on the music. It's useless. As soon as I force my attention into these directions as soon it focuses on your fingers again. And the tidal wave that swaps over me id higher with each try and threatens to soon swallow me and pull me away.

I can feel your breath on my cheek before I hear your whisper. "Come for me, mon amour – very quietly."

I want to cry and laugh at the same time, but then all thoughts are blown from my mind. Only mon Maitre's fingers anchor me into my body and into this world. Everything else blurs and the world starts to spin around you and me. We are the only ones that do exist. You wrap around me, holding me, lifting me, helping me by covering my mouth until I am back, a shivering, panting pile of bliss.

"Good girl," you whisper as applause breaks into our world. "You can let go now and better get dressed. I smile. Your satisfaction is the best gift of all you had given me that night.


End file.
